Our Responsibility to Contribute After Our Successess...

This is a quote that really resonated with me. I can understand enjoying the success of the day, but also looking forward to the next difficulty that is to be conquered.

“The rung of a ladder was never meant to rest upon, but only to hold a man's foot long enough to enable him to put the other somewhat higher.”
-Thomas Henry Huxley

Phantom Noise

I love the language used in this poem, which is by soldier-poet:
Brian Turner

There is this ringing hum this
bullet-borne language ringing
shell-fall and static this late-night
ringing of threadwork and carpet ringing
hiss and steam this wing-beat
of rotors and tanks broken
bodies ringing in steel humming these
voices of dust these years ringing
rifles in Babylon rifles in Sumer
ringing these children their gravestones
and candy their limbs gone missing their
static-borne television their ringing
this eardrum this rifled symphonic this
ringing of midnight in gunpowder and oil this
brake pad gone useless this muzzle-flash singing this
threading of bullets in muscle and bone this ringing
hum this ringing hum this
ringing

Mermaids are Real

As a child I loved when it rained…
a fascination with water,
(albeit I can’t swim).
On nights that it rained,
I would race downstairs
and peer out the screen door.
I waited for her.
Mermaids can’t talk, but we
communicated telepathically.
She would tell me epic things,
like the sun sets at the same time,
at least three times during the year.
And when the rain stopped,
the puddles disappeared and so did she,
but her spirit walked the earth.
The word lonely,
a word that once plagued my being,
soon became nonexistent.
“There’s a mermaid in our backyard,”
I told my mother, smiling
while eating a strawberry ice pop.
Her back was to me.
I couldn’t tell if she was in a mood
to talk or in a mood to sulk.
“Mermaids are mystical creatures in the North Atlantic.
They lure ship captains to rocks,” she explained.
I crouched down, listening intently,
and allowed my rapidly melting ice pop
to drip into a puddle. The same puddle
that was once home to my mermaid friend last night.
“Why would they lure ship captains to rocks?” I asked.
“To crash their ships and kill the captains,
sometimes accidentally, sometimes on purpose.”
I asked no more questions for fear of what I…
what she would hear next.
The sun was radiant, the air not too humid.
I knew her spirit was walking the earth.
I favored the rain over the sun.

Prayers, Thanks, and Fatherhood

I was nine
the last time
I saw him
almost three
decades ago
but it feels
like yesterday:
my stepfather
replaced my father
and even though
I prayed and prayed
for God to bring
him back, he never
returned
instead he lay
in the ground
covered in dirt
while another man
with a filthy mind and shifty eyes
lay in my mother’s bed
covered in dirt
and even though
I prayed and prayed
for God to take him way
he stayed
along with the longing
for my father
ironically enough,
on this day every year,
I gaze at my children
and thank God
for answering my prayers
he didn’t bring back my father
(and bury my stepfather instead)
but he sent me a husband
a reminder to me
of what fatherhood
really means.

Juneteenth, A Day of Remembrance

Juneteenth is a multicultural celebration that is held across the nation to commemorate the abolition of slavery in the state of Texas on June 19, 1865. The Greater Woodbury Arts Council (GWAC) will be presenting a day of remembrance that celebrates the rich legacy of African-Americans.

GWAC will be featuring a rededication of the Wing-Dickerson Park. Come and enjoy the live music and poetry, food and craft venders and children’s activities. There will also be reenactments and presentations focusing on local history and more.

For more information, click here.

What are you listening to?

My music tastes are quite eclectic. But lately, I’ve been drawn to guitar riffs and songs with lyrics that are compassionate and sincere. Bush’s "Glycerine" is one my favorites. I can also appreciate the simplicity of the video. Simple, but compelling in its storytelling and message.

Capturing Images

I held it steady
to focus, for clarity
marked by precision
dancing with the light
watching it bounce
manipulating the shadows
later amazed by its beauty
soft simplicity
not cotton candy soft
but a muted palette
capturing images
fresh like spring rain
emotions forever detained
telling a story
words could never adequately
illustrate.

French Movie

By David Lehman

I was in a French movie
and had only nine hours to live
and I knew it
not because I planned to take my life
or swallowed a lethal but slow-working
potion meant for a juror
in a mob-related murder trial,
nor did I expect to be assassinated
like a chemical engineer mistaken
for someone important in Milan
or a Jew journalist kidnapped in Pakistan;
no, none of that; no grounds for
suspicion, no murderous plots
centering on me with cryptic phone
messages and clues like a scarf or
lipstick left in the front seat of a car;
and yet I knew I would die
by the end of that day
and I knew it with a dreadful certainty,
and when I walked in the street
and looked in the eyes of the woman
walking toward me I knew that
she knew it, too,
and though I had never seen her before,
I knew she would spend the rest of that day
with me, those nine hours walking,
searching, going into a bookstore in Rome,
smoking a Gitane, and walking,
walking in London, taking the train
to Oxford from Paddington or Cambridge
from Liverpool Street and walking
along the river and across the bridges,
walking, talking, until my nine hours
were up and the black-and-white movie
ended with the single word FIN
in big white letters on a bare black screen.